The man dipped the large brush into one of the bowls, and then began painting the huge slab of meat with it, each stroke carrying incredible saucy goodness.
"You can have this whole damn slab, kid!" the man replied cheerily as he continued working on lathering the thing up.
Mikhail eyed the slab of meat with greed. He hadn't had — let alone seen — such a bountiful meal in… Hell, like more than a year!
The man laughed as he watched the young looking lad drool.
"Alright, the whole thing then!"
Mikhail watched the process, feeling his hunger ignite with intensities he never thought to be possible, making the wait seem agonizingly long.
And after what felt like forever, the man pulled out a huge wooden plate from under the table, placing it on a sauceless area before lifting the slab up and slamming it down onto the plate while letting out a hearty laugh.
"Have at it, kid! Just remember to bring back my plate!"
Mikhail thanked him, hooking his left arm through the handles of the wicker basket in his possession before leaning over and picking up the plate, feeling its crazy heft.
"Thanks, mister!"
"That's Mister Roscoe to you! Now go back to your orc buddies!"
Mikhail nodded with a smile, before turning and carrying the plate back to where he was earlier.
Upon arriving, he saw Mog facing off against a huge, brolic black dude that towered over him. The pairing looked extremely unfair, yet they were both fighting on equal grounds, taking fierce hits from each other like mad men.
Mikhail turned his attention away from the fight, looking around before seeing Yatur chilling with Glasha and Yargol, as well as a group of five humans. The man Glasha had been fighting was among them.
He couldn't help but notice how those two were beaten and bruised pretty badly.
Yet, despite that, the two seemed to be getting on remarkably well. Yargol even seemed a bit jealous…
"Yo!" he said in Shagar, garnering their attention as he snuck up on them from behind.
The orcs and the bruised up human turned around.
"M-Mikhail!"
The three orcs shouted in unison, before getting up and crushing him in a group hug.
Mikhail's meal was only saved because he had the foresight to lift the plate above his head.
"Be careful, damn it! If any of you make me drop my meat I'm gonna kick all of your asses!"
"Don't be like that, Mickey! We've missed being this close to you!" Glasha said while revealing a bright smile.
Yargol nodded as they backed up, allowing him to bring down his plate of meat.
"For real! We haven't seen you up close in way too long, damn near a whole year!"
Mikhail looked at Yargol like he was stupid.
"Wasn't it only three months?"
"ONLY THREE MONTHS?! And you have the gall to look at me like I'm the idiot here!"
"A year is twelve months long, you idiot!"
Yatur face-palmed.
"...Mikhail. A year is five months long. How have you not re-learned that yet?!"
"...WHAT?!"
"Yeah, dude! Twelve months is a little over two years! What the fuck kind of calendar are you thinking of?"
Mikhail's mind blanked out for a second… "How long is a month?" he eventually asked.
"Fifteen weeks long," Glasha said, looking at him incredulously.
"And… And a week is seven days long, right?"
Yargol groaned.
"Oh for the heavens' sake, Mikhail! No! It's not seven days long! A week is five days long! Are you even from this world?!"
"No."
"Man, shut up and eat your food," Yargol said while rolling his eyes, turning his attention back to Mog's fight while shaking his head.
Meanwhile, the man wearing a toga snickered.
"The tribe gets yet another meat-head to its ranks," he said in Manakel, eliciting a chuckle from Glasha.
"Hm? What do you mean?" the lean black woman of the group asked, also speaking Manakel.
"Oh, nothing… Just listening to the commotion between the new guy and his pals."
"Another meat-head? Oh, heavens…" said the tan woman with long silky black hair. Her voice was monotone and had a lackluster inflection to it.
Mikhail looked at those three with narrowed eyes as he sat down in Yargol's stone stool.
'Meat-head? I think that means they're calling me dumb… Man, how am I supposed to know another world's calendar if no one tells me about it?'
He kept his thoughts to himself, opting to begin tearing into the slab of meat, using his bare hands to lift one side off the plate before biting into it and ripping a chunk off with gusto.
It was an absolutely unreal and intense harmonious blast of flavors.
He moaned involuntarily, causing a few strange looks from his friends, as well as from the group of young adult looking humans.
"Man, fuck off you guys. I haven't had food this good since before my home was blasted to bits a year- No. Uh, I mean, two years ago!"
Yatur recoiled and shook his head in shock.
"Since what happened how long ago?" Yatur asked, stupefied by that new information coming out of the blue.
"What'd he say?" the man wearing a toga asked while turning to Glasha, who was now sitting on Yargol's lap.
But before she could answer, Mikhail responded, having the chance to do so since he just finished swallowing that delicious chunk of meat.
"I said: This meat is the most fantastic thing I've tasted in two years!"
He then immediately went back down to bite another chunk off, missing the man's shocked expression.
"Wait, you can speak our language already?!"
Mikhail glanced up to look at the man in his striking silver eyes.
"Barely."
He then went back to eating, the brief interaction between him and the man stirring his thoughts on Manakel.
'The way it sounds is so weird… Like a mix of every language I've ever heard in my last life. It's like some sort of… Some sort of chaos language!'
But those thoughts too were quickly drowned out by his insatiable hunger, his focus going back to the slab of meat…